“Where’s your wedding ring, Enzo?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He met my eyes, then glanced down at the hand I was holding. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, casual, like he didn’t notice the weight of what I was asking.
“It’s in my bag,” he said easily.
I didn’t answer. But it felt like a needle slid right under my ribs.
There was more I wanted to ask. My tongue just wouldn’t move.
Slowly, I let go of his hand.
“I’ll take a shower so we can get some rest,” he said, then leaned down and kissed my lips—quick, soft, automatic. He lifted me off the bed when he stood.
I didn’t react. I think I just went numb.
My eyes followed him to the bathroom. He started undressing as he walked. I looked away. I didn’t want to watch my husband undress.
When I heard the
